An Untrustworthy Alliance
by OverTheStars87
Summary: It's Harry first year alone in the real world. Though he and his friends are now members of the Order, confusion sets in when an old enemy wants Harry's help.
1. Uncertain Expectations

Chapter 1  
Uncertain Expectations  
  
"Every man's life lies within the present; for the past is spent and done  
with, and the future is uncertain." – Marcus Aelius Aurelius  
  
With his graduation behind him, Harry woke on the morning of his 18th birthday with a sigh, to the twittering of owls at his bedroom window. The house was still the meeting place for the Order, but Harry's godfather, Sirius, had left him the deed to 12 Grimmauld Place in his will. He dragged himself from the bed to relieve the birds of their burdens, somewhat disappointed; he'd half-expected the letter containing his Hogwarts school list to arrive. But, unfortunately, Harry's seventh year had ended, thrusting him into the wizarding world as a full blown adult.  
  
On the brighter side, Harry could now join the Order. Though he, Ron, and Hermione had wanted to join at the age of sixteen, and were adults by wizard law, Lupin decided id would be better if they waited until they were out of school. (With Mrs. Weasley constantly nagging him that they were still far too young an age, not to mention.) And today was the official induction and celebration. The three of them were to become official members that night. Harry grinned with anticipation as he pulled on a set of fresh clothes. He then sat on his bed to open the freshly delivered packages.  
  
The first was a birthday present from Hagrid. He had sent a letter saying that he would be there that afternoon for the induction. Hagrid had accompanied the letter with a tin of his homemade treacle tart, which Harry knew enough not to bite into, lest he wanted a chipped tooth.  
  
The second owl had delivered a letter from Dumbledore. Because Harry had not returned to his aunt and uncle's house as he did every year in order renew the protection spell, and also because he was out of the country at the moment – a mission for the Order – Dumbledore was always dropping a note to Harry, to check up on him. Asking what he was up to and how he was feeling. It was the same-old-same-old note, as usual, but with a gift, too. He had given Harry a silver pocket watch, with an engraving on the inside cover. He squinted at the words to see them more clearly, but still could not read what was written, since it was written in runes. Harry closed it and put it in his pocket; he would translate it later.  
  
The final package had taken four large barn owls to deliver. Harry laid it on his bed and began to untie the packaging. A small gasp escaped his lips as he tore away the last piece of wrapping.  
  
A stained oak box lay before him, with an intricate carving on the lid. It was that of a forest, with a small clearing in the center. A large lily grew alone in the middle, drenched in light from the full moon in the sky above. To the right of the flower lay a stag lying peacefully; to the left sat a large, shaggy dog. Both were intently staring at the lily between them. Harry passed a trembling hand over the figures, his eyes welling as he named each one of the carvings silently. He lifted the lid to find a green, satin lined interior. The bottom was molded in the shape of a broomstick, and the inside of the lid was lined with pockets for, or Harry assumed were for, broom care products.  
  
A piece of parchment stuck out from one of said pockets. Harry plucked it out and read:  
  
Dear Harry,  
Happy Birthday! I do hope you like the present. It was originally  
a plain box, but I thought you might like it a bit more personalized.  
you had better use it, too. I've seen the way you keep your Firebolt.  
I should be arriving at about lunch time for your party and the induction.  
Tell everyone that I say Hello, if you would. I had better start  
packing. See you at noon.  
Love,  
Hermione  
  
"Oh, Hermione," Harry said to himself, "how did you manage to outdo yourself?" He put the parchment back in the pocket. He strode over to his closet, dug out his Firebolt, and carefully laid it in the case. He picked it up, and with a soft crack, Disapparated, only to Apparate in the room next to his own; Ron's room.  
  
"Ron, wake up," Harry said, shaking Ron's shoulder gently. A groan escaped the bundle of blankets rolled up on the bed. His bright red head emerged, and Ron tried to focus his eyes on his visitor.  
  
"Harry?" Ron asked groggily. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Ron, get up. You have to see what Hermione got me for my birthday."  
  
Ron sighed as he untangled himself and sat up. "Alright then," he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Let's see it."  
  
Harry placed the case gently on Ron's lap, and then sat down on the foot of the bed. He smiled to himself at his friend's reaction to the gift, as it so closely mirrored his own. Ron's eyes danced as he investigated the box further, opening it and reading the note from Hermione. He let out another groan.  
  
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.  
  
"The induction," Ron replied. "I'd forgotten it was tonight. I'd also forgotten how nervous I am about it all."  
  
"Don't worry about it. Hermione and I will be there, too. It's just a dinner and a swearing in by oath. It won't be that bad." "That's easy for you to say," Ron said. He threw off the covers and got out of his bed. "You're used to being in the spotlight all the time. You don't go red when more than two people are looking at you. You don't have the balance of a one-legged hippogriff when you're nervous. And, you have got decent enough clothes to wear. He'd been rummaging through his dresser and throwing clothes about his room, irritated that couldn't find anything he deemed appropriate.  
  
"Ron, you need to calm down. We have got more than twelve hours until we have to be ready. Besides, your mother will more than likely choose your clothes for you, so you don't need to worry about that. Just breathe."  
  
Ron looked thoughtful. "Yeah. I guess that is true. Maybe I'm just making too big a deal about this."  
  
"Definitely. We'll have some breakfast; maybe go for a walk or something. Just put tonight out of our minds for a while."  
  
"Sounds like a plan. I'll be down in a few minutes." Ron was shuffling through his closet now.  
  
Harry gathered up his box and left Ron to carpet his floor with clothing. After carefully storing his case in his own room, he headed downstairs to get something to eat.  
  
Even though it was early morning, the dining room was abuzz with people eating and bustling about. Lupin stood at one doorway, wand out, straightening a banner that read: "Congratulations Harry, Ron, and Hermione!" A smaller banner hung under that one, reading: "Happy Birthday Harry!" Harry cringed, thinking about the party being blown out of proportion because of the induction happening at the same time. Mr. Weasley and Mundungus were sitting at the table, eating eggs and toast, happily chatting each other up.  
  
Harry's hope that he might be able to get to the kitchen and back to Ron's room unnoticed died the moment Mrs. Weasley burst through the kitchen door. Their eyes locked, and just as Harry turned to head back, Mrs. Weasley was already across the room next to him, cutting off his ability to breathe in her tight embrace.  
  
"Oh, Happy Birthday, Harry. I am so happy for you. The cake is baking, people are already arriving for the induction tonight, but there is still so much to do. And I've just received an owl from Dumbledore saying he will be arriving later on for the celebration." She let out a high pitched squeal, making Harry wince at the ear piercing noise. "Oh, it's all so exciting, isn't it? I've never been so proud of Ron."  
  
"What about when he became a prefect?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh yes, that. Well, I was proud of him then, and I'm proud of him now, too." You might want to check on him. He's having a bit of a breakdown worrying about what he should wear."  
  
Mrs. Weasley released Harry, and he filled his lungs with precious air. "Yes, he would at a thing like that." As she left the dinning room, Harry went into the kitchen to make something to eat. As he was buttering a muffin, he heard "I DO NOT NEED YOUR HELP!" echo above his head; apparently Ron wasn't thrilled at the idea of his mother still picking out his clothes. He went back into the dining room, and sat down just as Mrs. Weasley boomed out: "I'LL JUST WIND UP DOING IT THE END, ANYHOW!" Silence followed, and Harry guessed that Ron had backed down; a smart move on his part. 


	2. Unhappy News

Chapter 2  
Unhappy News  
  
"None love the messenger who brings bad news." –Sophocles  
  
Harry and Ron walked down the path of Diagon Alley toward Gringotts, debating whether Harry should play pro Quidditch, and (in Ron's case) which team he'd be on.  
  
"Come on, Harry. You could be the best player of all time. Even better than that fool Krum." Ron spat the name out, not bothering to mask his disdain for the man. After he'd taken Hermione to the Yule ball in their third year, Ron's hate for Viktor Krum had grown; not to mention the fact that Krum was an opponent of Harry during the Triwizard Tournament also played a large role. "You could be on the Chuddley Cannons. It is the best team there is, you know."  
  
"I don't know if I want to be a pro Quidditch player, Ron," Harry replied. "It would be a lot of fun; I'm not denying that. But I want to do something more rewarding. Like become an Auror."  
  
"Well fine then. Help people instead of being famous. You're just being an unreasonably selfish prat."  
  
"Yeah, that's me. Saving people's lives instead of playing a game all day. How do I live with myself?" He rolled his eyes.  
  
"That's what I would like to know."  
  
They were climbing the steps to the bank when they spotted Hermione leaning against one of the doors. Shortly before they'd left, Harry had sent Hedwig to tell her to meet them in Diagon Alley instead of at his house. They waved to her, and she rushed over to them.  
  
Before they could even say hello, she was badgering them with questions. "Did you two get your N.E.W.T results back yet? I haven't and really worried about it. What if the delivery owl got lost? Or worse; what if I did so horrible that they didn't bother sending them at all? I knew I should have written more on the thestral massacre of 1654. Now I'll never get a good job, and I'll die alone, a cat lady, and when I do, they'll eat my eyes –"  
  
Ron cut her off. "Whoa, slow down a moment Hermione. We haven't seen you in ages, and you barrage us with test questions. I must say, I almost miss that, though."  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm just so nervous about it." "Don't worry, we haven't our results either," Harry said, draping his arm over her shoulder. "I'm sure you did amazing; you always do. If not, well, you can always be a fulltime member of the Order." He lowered his voice on the last sentence.  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. "I'd forgotten all about that." She grinned and giggled. "Ooh, it's all so exciting, don't you think?"  
  
"Oh yes. It's absolutely bloody amazing," Ron said sarcastically, a glum look on his face. Hermione looked at Harry questioningly.  
  
"He's just nervous about the induction, that's all."  
  
"Oh, Ron, there's nothing to be worried about." Hermione walked next to him and linked arms. "It'll be over with before you even realize. Now, I think I know just the thing to cheer you up."  
  
"Oh really; and what is that?"  
  
"Spending the day with your friends shopping, and then heading to Hogsmead for a nice glass of butterbeer. I'll bet Madame Rosemerta will be there today."  
  
Ron's eyes lit up. "I bet she will be. Let's go have some fun." Grinning, he pulled Hermione down the stairs. She grabbed Harry's arm, and the three of them walked down the street. Harry smiled to himself. This was turning out to be one of the best days of his life. Unfortunately, the thought didn't last too long.  
  
-  
  
A few hours later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Three Broomsticks, sipping butterbeer and catching up with Hermione. She had been on vacation with her parents during the summer in Ireland, as a graduation present.  
  
"It was amazingly beautiful; you two would have loved it." She took another sip of butterbeer. "The glades, the castles; it was all so gorgeous. Enough about what I've been doing; I want to hear what you guys have been up to."  
  
"Mostly just working on making the house hospitable for people. Honestly, I don't know how Kreacher could stand to live in filth," said Ron, sipping his own butterbeer. "I was so happy when we gave him clothes and –"  
  
Hermione choked on her drink, causing some of the liquid to come out her nose. She swallowed and wiped her face, then glared at Harry and Ron. "You did what?!? I can't believe you guys. He did nothing but serve you, and you throw him into the cold world!"  
  
Harry snorted. "'Serve you.' That's rich. He did exactly the opposite: he never cleaned, he was always insulting us 'under his breath', and whenever he got the chance, he would wake the portrait of Sirius's mother up causing her to scream at the top of lungs; usually in the middle of the night. He thought he could drive us out the house. Well, it was either me or him, and was not about to lose the one thing I have as a memory of my godfather."  
  
At that, Hermione shut her mouth abruptly, and her eyes softened the way they always did when Harry mentioned Sirius. She looked down at the table, and Ron looked away, chugging the rest of his drink down.  
  
"Don't act like that you guys. It's been two years. I'm over it; almost all the way. You don't have to act like that whenever I say his name."  
  
"You still didn't need to be so mean to Kreacher," Hermione said under her breath, in a matter-of-factly type tone.  
  
"I could have cut off his head and mounted over the fireplace next to his mother's like he always wanted, if you'd have preferred. I wouldn't have had any problems with that scenario."  
  
Ron snorted, causing a spray of butterbeer to rain over the table. He laughed and said, "That would have been rich."  
  
"You two. Honestly, you'd think the only way you two get off is by causing that creature pain." She crossed her arms and sat back, glaring at the both of them.  
  
"And luckily, his suffering was to my gain," came a silky yet oily voice from behind them.  
  
The three of them turned around to face the source of such a voice, which came from none other than Draco Malfoy. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, looking as large as ever. Malfoy smirked and shook his silvery hair from his eyes. His slate blue eyes flashed.  
  
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione spat.  
  
"The last time I checked, it was a legal for a person to come in here for a drink, not an offence to be tried by the Wizengamot. I just wanted to find Potter and thank him." He smiled wickedly.  
  
"What for?" Harry asked, eyeing him suspiciously.  
  
"Why, for the lovely house elf you sent me, of course. Or did you forget that Black and my mother are related? Tut tut, Potter; you appear to be slacking. I'm sure he'll have loads of interesting things to tell me. It should be quite entertaining, to say the least. And I'm sure I can find others who will enjoy it as much as I." Malfoy's eyes flashed with amusement.  
  
Ron met Harry's eyes, and they both felt a wave of despair wash through their bodies.  
  
"So," Draco said, "can some one get a decent drink a place like this, or do they have only butterbeer for the ickle teenagers." He laughed and ran his hand through his hair. In doing so, the sleeve of his robe slipped down, and Harry caught sight of something on his forearm.  
  
"If you don't like it," Hermione said, "you can always go to the Hog's Head. They haven't cleaned it for a while, so you'll be more at home, with the filth you keep company with."  
  
Draco bared his teeth in rage. "Say something like that again, and you'll have six feet of dirt on top of you to keep company with, you filthy mudblood."  
  
At that Harry and Ron had swiftly gotten to their feet and instinctively were reaching for their wands. At the same time, Crabbe and Goyle, who had been silent and not moved since they'd arrived, pushed in front Malfoy, ready to protect him. Before anything could happen, Hermione climbed over the table and stood in front of Ron and Harry. "Don't bother; he isn't worth."  
  
"Listen to Granger, Potter; you don't want all these witnesses to talk do you?"  
  
Harry chanced a look around the room, and found that every one was staring at the commotion. Begrudgingly, he lowered his wand; Ron did the same. Draco chuckled softly.  
  
"That's what was always wrong with you three; you never had any gall. It'll come back and bite you in the ass, mark my words."  
  
At that, he motioned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them walked out of the pub. Harry looked at Hermione and Ron with desperate eyes.  
  
"Well, we sure are in it deep now." 


	3. Revelation

Chapter 3  
Revelation  
  
"What's done to children, they will do to society." –Dr. Karl Menninger  
  
Draco Apparated outside of his house, quickly followed by Crabbe and Goyle, a few minutes after leaving the Three Broomsticks.  
  
His home was a large, old country house, surrounded by meadows and forests. His father had chosen this particular house for just that reason; no one would come over, prying through their personal businesses. And it was far enough from filthy muggles to suit his liking as well.  
  
As they entered the house, Lucius swarmed over them. "Well, where have you been? You can't just wander about whenever you please anymore!"  
  
"We weren't wandering the streets, screaming at the top of our lungs, 'We know where the Dark Lord is; come and follow us!' We went to Hogsmead for a drink."  
  
"Don't make me wipe that smirk off you face. I have a right to know where you are. You're an adult now and a Death Eater as well. You have much more responsibility than before."  
  
"I know that. I can take care of my self," Draco snapped back. "I don't need you to watch over me like a child!"  
  
Lucius sneered. "You ignorant, ungrateful little..." He raised his hand and slapped Draco hard across the face. Crabbe and Goyle simultaneously gasped and backed up a few paces. Draco said nothing, only raising his head slowly and fixing an icy stare on his father's face. He'd stopped giving the satisfaction of crying out at pain ages ago, and he wasn't about to start again now.  
  
"I have nothing but you and the Dark Lord's best interests at heart, and you act like you are an untouchable god. The last thing we need is you flouncing about in public. If an Auror, or a damned member of the bloody Order catches you, they will make you talk. And if you do, so help me, I'll kill you my bloody self."  
  
"Oh, Father; you can't do that that. You'd have to have a heart," remarked Draco with utter sarcasm.  
  
Lucius raised his hand once again. Crabbe and Goyle stepped back again, but Draco stood his ground and held the cold stare. Lucius lowered his hand smirked.  
  
Well, son," he spat the word out as is it held a repulsive taste, "you might not have all the brains I have, but you have got some valor. And, unfortunately, I respect." With that, he whirled around and walked quickly from the room. Draco spat a small mouthful of blood onto the floor. He'd waited until his father left; bleeding unnecessarily was just another form of weakness. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who looked positively mortified.  
  
"You two might as well go home; I don't need you right now anyway. If I do, I'll send an owl."  
  
"Are you sure?" Goyle asked.  
  
Draco's expression softened the slightest bit. As stupid as they might be at times, Crabbe and Goyle were the best friends Draco ever had. "I'll be fine. If not I'll send for you. Now go home."  
  
They smiled a small farewell, then Disapparated. Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then looked down at it. It was smeared with blood."  
  
"Bloody wanker."  
  
-  
  
Draco sat on the window bench in his room, staring at the sky; the sun barely beginning to touch the horizon. On the nightstand next to his bed, his tawny barn owl, Brutus, still slept. Next to the cage, a plate of cold uneaten food sat, unaccompanied by a drink, or silverware. His mother had come in twenty minutes earlier, tossed the plate on the table, then left. No greeting, no question on how he was feeling; only silence.  
  
He hadn't expected anything more. His mother had never been one to be affectionate toward him. Sure, she'd sent extravagant gifts on his birthday and on holidays – with the occasional sweets – when he attended Hogwarts, but it was all for show. The only reason she sent it was to nullify the fact she had detested for her own son. She had two main concerns: herself and power. Every thing, and one, else was just a space filler.  
  
Draco continued to stare longingly out the windows; envious of the freedom the birds had flying across the sky. He hadn't been allowed off of their property without exact coordinates of his destination for ages. After he joined to the Death Eaters, his mother became horrified at the thought that her son would be captured and rat out Voldemort, her ticket to power. It consumed her. In a feeble attempt to soothe his wife, Lucius had taken Draco's broom from him, and set charms on his room to know whether or not he was there. But, neither of his parents knew that he's passed his Apparition test, so he still had that small freedom.  
  
He stood up with disgust, both at his parents and himself. As a second thought, he sat on his bed and picked up the cold plate. He reached for the fork before he remembered that it wasn't there. Enraged with his mother's incompetence, Draco stood and hurled the plate against the wall; eyes clouded with anger. It shattered against the wall, waking Brutus, who fluttered his wings and hooted, annoyed.  
  
Ignoring the bird, he pulled out his wand and muttered, "Reparo," pointing at the shards of porcelain. The pieces immediately mended themselves. "Kreacher!" he yelled, returning the wand to his pocket.  
  
A minute later, the house elf walked in and stood in front of Draco. "And what is it that master is wanting now?" he asked. "Such an ungrateful little wretch he is. Kreacher does everything master tells him, but no thanks does Kreacher get." He'd said the last part out loud; oblivious to the fact that Draco could still hear him.  
  
"Just clean up the wall, Kreacher. Then get out of my sight." He petted Brutus, who was still agitated by all the noise. Kreacher walked to the wall and started wiping the food off.  
  
"Of course Kreacher will clean up the wall; it is his job. And Kreacher is doing his job well; he thinks..."  
  
Draco ignored the mindless gibbering, as always. He was aware that the house elf wasn't talking to him; a few days with him had told him that. Nonetheless, it was still irritating.  
  
"... the mistress wasn't so nasty. And the girl half-breed wasn't mean to Kreacher, neither.  
  
"Shut up!" yelled Draco, fully annoyed now. "Stop complaining; you good- for-nothing, loathsome creature!" He quickly strode over to the house elf, and jerked him into the air by the back of his filthy clothing. Still holding Kreacher, he Disapparated.  
  
Draco reappeared in Crabbe's room a few moments later. He threw the house elf on the floor, ignoring his loud muttering. He turned back to Crabbe, who was sitting on his bed, looking the tiniest bit more than surprised.  
  
"Find out what he knows about the bloody Order; get Goyle to help. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Then the both of you bring him back in the morning. Understand?"  
  
Crabbe nodded with agreement.  
  
And with that, Draco Disapparated.  
  
-  
  
"Harry, what are we going to do?" Hermione asked desperately. "Kreacher will tell Malfoy what ever he wants him to; he hates us!"  
They were back at the house, in Harry's room, waiting for Ron. Their induction was about to begin, and he was still getting ready. Harry was wearing the green dress robe he had worn to the Yule Ball, with a few alterations to make it larger. Hermione was wearing a dress robe also; a deep midnight purple, with silver trim on the arms and neck.  
  
Hermione lay down horizontally on the bed, and propped herself on her elbows to look at Harry. "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to us."  
  
Harry sat down next to her. "I think that's a bit exaggerated. I know at least a dozen scenarios worse than this, and in most of them, we almost died."  
  
"Well, that is true," she replied. She rearranged herself so that she was sitting upright on the bed, facing Harry. "But still, this situation is still pretty bad."  
  
"You're telling me."  
  
Harry and Hermione turned to the doorway where Ron was standing. He was wearing a dark blue dress robe; the color one might see if he were for out on the deep ocean waters. "I look like a wanker. If I were younger, I'd beat myself up." He sat down next Harry with a gloomy look on his face.  
  
"Ron, don't say that," Hermione said. "You look rather handsome. Where did you get it, anyway?"  
  
"From Fred and George, of course. That's all they ever get me; for every holiday: my birthday, Easter, Christmas, Arbor Day. Thanks a lot, Harry. At least you realize one can never have too many dress robes." He rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed.  
  
"Umm, can we get back on topic?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Yeah; I've got to tell you guys something anyway." Harry lowered his voice and leaned closer so she and Ron could hear him. "At the Three Broomsticks, when we saw Malfoy there, I saw the Dark Mark tattooed on his forearm. He must have joined the Death Eaters like his parents."  
  
Ron bolted upright, "What! No wa-" He broke off, slamming his head into Harry's. "Ow!" He rubbed his forehead. Ignoring the pain, he continued. "No way. He couldn't be. That would mean we gave..."  
  
"We gave Voldemort his own informant," Hermione finished. He eyes were wide. "That's even worse than just giving him to Malfoy." She buried her face in her hands.  
  
"Exactly," Harry agreed, rubbing his own head. "But we can't let it get to us. We won't mention it to anyone. Then tomorrow, we'll track Malfoy down and get Kreacher back. It can't be that hard."  
  
"Oh, it'll be cake," Ron quipped. "We'll just ring the doorbell and ask for him back. With Malfoy being one of our best friends and all, we should get him back rather quickly."  
  
"We got harder things back when we were at Hogwarts. How difficult should it be to get one measly little house elf?"  
  
"You know the Malfoys, Harry," Hermione interjected. "They probably have every charm and spell on their house so no one can bother when they're being evil."  
  
"We have to try," Harry said, folding his arms across his chest. "And we will. Tomorrow."  
  
At that moment, Lupin came in, followed by Mrs. Weasley, who beamed at them. "Come on you three," he said, smiling. "We're all ready for you."  
  
"Are you guys ready?" Harry asked, with another question attached; one that did not need to be spoken. He stood up.  
  
Hermione and Ron stood also, and nodded in agreement, to both questions. Harry inhaled deeply, and followed Lupin out the door. 


	4. Celebration

Chapter 4  
Celebration  
  
"Put yourself in a state of mind where you say to yourself, 'Here is an opportunity for you to celebrate like never before, my own power, my own  
ability to get myself to do whatever is necessary.'"  
-Anthony Robbins  
  
As Harry descended the stairs, he held in a sharp intake of breath.  
  
In front of him was every one in the Order. Hagrid was in the back, towering above every body and smiling. Next to him was Dumbledore, looking at Harry with ever present Dumbledore-smile. The whole Weasley family sat in the front, beaming with pride for their youngest son and his friends.  
  
Every one I care about is in this room, Harry thought happily. His heart welled with emotion, and he smiled broadly. I must look like an idiot.  
  
Lupin led them to a small platform in the front of the room. Harry looked around, wondering how they managed to fit everyone in such a limited area. He stepped up next to Lupin, followed by Hermione and Ron.  
  
"Today, we honor three people, by allowing them to join The Order of the Phoenix," Lupin said. Harry had never really thought about it, but apparently Lupin had quite a booming voice, since it seemed to echo loudly off the walls.  
  
"These three standing next to me are no normal people," he rang out again, catching Harry attention once more. "They have fought bravely, more bravely than some of you before them, for many years. They have come face to face with death, and even worse, Voldemort." A visible shudder passed through the audience. "And every time, they have come back, very much alive, as you can see. They have lost loved ones in this battle of good versus evil, and still they go on. They have more heart than most I've ever met, and it would be my great pleasure to fight by their sides."  
  
Applause rang through the hall. Lupin let it go for a moment, turning and beaming at Harry, Hermione and Ron. They grinned back at him. He lifted his arms and silence washed over the small crowd.  
  
"Now, to show our trust and gratitude for these fine young people, let us in duct them into the Order!" Again, applause filled Harry's ears. "Please, bring out the Holding." The crowd parted, and Dumbledore stood at the other end, holding a large wooden box. He walked silently across to the platform, and held the box out to Lupin of if it were an offering. Lupin took it and nodded to him. Dumbledore nodded back, winked at the three of them, then turned and walked back to his place.  
  
Lupin placed the box on the table and lightly tapped. It opened with a soft hiss of compressed air. He lifted the lid, and pulled out a crimson parchment. A barely audible gasp rippled through the crowd. He placed it gently on the table, then turned around again. "The Induction will now commence." He pulled a golden-brown quill, which Harry immediately recognized as a phoenix feather. "Harry," Lupin said quietly, holding out the quill. "You're first."  
  
With a trembling hand, Harry took the quill and bent over the table. He looked over the other names already on the parchment. One of the first names on it was "James Potter", in handwriting remarkably similar to his own; underneath it was "Lily Potter." And, squeezed in next to them in small letters, was "Sirius Black." Blinking back the tears that stung his eyelids, Harry found the last name on the parchment and quickly signed his own.  
  
He suddenly had a memory of his fifth year, when he was in charge of the D.A. He handed the quill to Hermione. As he let her pass he said, "Bring back any memories," just loud enough for her and Ron to hear. Both smiled at the resemblance of that moment and this one.  
  
After Ron handed back the quill, Lupin gathered up the parchment and placed it back in the box. He closed the lid and tapped it with his wand again. It shut tightly with a small whoosh of air. Picking up the box, he turned to the audience. "I present to you new members Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley. The Induction is complete. Let the festivities begin!"  
  
The room burst into cheers, and Harry wondered if the muggles next door could hear it.  
  
-  
  
Harry sat at the table between Hermione and Ron, eating and laughing, and accepting the occasional welcome handshake. People were bustling around them; patting them on the shoulder, exclaiming who happy they were for them. Mrs. Weasley had grabbed them all into a large hug, and sobbed uncontrollably on Hermione's shoulder, saying how proud she was of the three of them. They had managed to pass her to Mr. Weasley before she soaked their robes.  
  
Dumbledore came over and sat across from them. "So, how does it feel?"  
  
"It feels great," replied Ron, still shoveling food into his mouth. He'd gotten quite good at eating and talking distinctly. Lots of practice. "The best day of my life, no doubt."  
  
"You seemed nervous at first," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.  
  
"Me? No; I've got nerves of steel."  
Hermione snorted into her pudding. "You must be joking! A flobber worm had more backbone than you tonight!"  
  
The tips of Ron's ears turned red, and he said nothing and concentrated on his fifth helping of pie.  
  
"I thought it would be much more than this," Harry said, looking at Dumbledore. "I mean, it was just signing a parchment. I always imagined it would be bigger."  
  
"Oh, it was big," Dumbledore replied. "When the Order first began, we had the Signing in secret. But this was amazingly larger than even I had expected. It seem as though every one in the order is here.  
  
"And it wasn't just signing a parchment, Harry. The Order is based very much on trust; we trust each other with our lives. And, you signed with a phoenix feather quill; the bird symbolically tied to loyalty. There are a few charms on the parchment as well, but alas, none that cause severe cases of acne." He chuckled and looked at Hermione, who blushed worse than Ron.  
  
"Now," he said, rising, "I must go. My mission awaits."  
  
"You're not staying?" Ron asked, reaching for the pudding.  
  
"No, I'm afraid that it is a more pressing matter than eating food with my friends. Happy Birthday, Harry. And now, I must find Arthur and thank him for having me." He smiled, and walked away in search of Mr. Weasley.  
  
"I'd almost forgotten." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver pocket watch that Dumbledore gave him. He opened it and handed it to Hermione. "Can you translate this for me; you're better at runes than I am."  
  
"Not to mention a dozen other things," she replied, taking the watch from him. She turned it from side to side, trying to find the best light. "It says, 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.'" She closed it and handed it back to Harry.  
  
"Are you sure that's what it says?" Ron asked, finally setting down his fork. She shot him a dirty look. "Oh, right. My mistake."  
  
"That's an odd thing to put down," Harry wondered out loud.  
  
"Not really," she replied. "It's rather intelligent."  
  
"How do you mean?"  
  
Before she could answer him, Mrs. Weasley came over to them. "Your birthday party is about to start, Harry dear. As soon as everyone else leaves." "You mean it won't be this large?" he asked, visibly relived.  
  
"Of course," she replied, laughing. "I wouldn't throw you a huge party like this. I know you don't like things like that. But please help clean up, you three; there'll be a lot of rubbish to clean up, and I can't do it alone. Mundungus, what do you think you are doing?!? Sorry, dears." She bustled around the table to Mundungus, who they had all overheard attempting to sell a shipment of broomsticks that had "fallen off the back." Smiling, they turned back around.  
  
"He's in for it now," Ron said, standing and picking up his glass and plate. "Let's go before she starts to get on a roll."  
  
Harry and Hermione quickly picked up there own plates just as Mrs. Weasley's voice started to rise. They were at the kitchen door when they heard, "YOU ARE A MEMBER OF THE ORDER, AT INDUCTION, TRYING TO PAWN OFF USELESS MERCHINDISE!" Grinning, they started to clean up the kitchen.  
  
-  
  
A few hours later, they all sat in Harry's room, talking and laughing with Fred, George and Ginny, all with full stomachs and happy hearts. After a little while, Ginny stood up and yawned.  
  
"It's getting pretty late. And I've got to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow with Mum to buy school supplies. I'll see you in the morning." She stretched and walked out of the room.  
  
George stood up as well, "We better get to bed, too. Those jokes don't sell themselves, you know. C'mon, Fred." The twins left and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the only ones left. Then Hermione stood up as well. "I'd best be off, as well."  
  
"You're not staying here?" Ron asked. "Mum's already made up a bed for you in a spare room."  
  
"My parent's are meeting me at the Leaky Cauldron in the morning; I have a room there."  
  
"You know, they could just meet you here in the morning," Harry said.  
  
"How're they supposed to find it?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"I'll go tell Mum you're not staying, and then I'm going to bed. G'night you two."  
  
He stood and stretched, then left the room.  
  
"I'd better get going, too," Hermione said, standing.  
  
"What time will you be back tomorrow?"  
  
"Probably a little after lunchtime. Why?"  
  
"Then Ron and I will pick you up then. And we can go and get Kreacher back."  
  
"You can't be serious about that. We can't just go and get him back; we'll be smashed into a pulp."  
  
"Why not? He belongs to me."  
  
"No, Harry, he doesn't; he belongs to the blood relatives of the Malfoys. And you aren't blood related to Sirius."  
  
Harry had nothing to say to that, so he just sat on the bed, silent.  
  
Hermione sighed and sat down next to him. "Listen Harry, I don't think we'll be able to get him back, since he serves the Malfoys. But we can try, okay?"  
  
"I know that he doesn't belong to me, and won't listen to me; that's what killed Sirius in the first place," Harry said quietly.  
  
"Don't say that; no one blames you for it."  
  
"Well, they should. It's my fault. And if I mess things up for the Order again, I don't know what to do."  
  
"Don't worry, we'll get Kreacher back. I have to go, but I'll see you tomorrow at around one o'clock; I'll come here. Now go to bed and get some rest; you look like you need it."  
  
She gave him a small kiss on the cheek, and the walked out the room, closing the door behind her.  
  
Harry lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I am not going to screw up again, he thought. It was his last thought before he drifted to sleep. 


	5. Unfortunate News

Chapter 5  
Unfortunate News  
  
"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre  
minds."  
–Einstein  
  
Draco woke the next morning to some one shaking his shoulder roughly. Without a sound or opening his eyes, he grabbed the hand with lightning- quick speed and firmly pressed down.  
  
"Ow, Draco; let go of me." He recognized Goyle's voice and let go of his hand, opening his eyes. It was still dark out, and he looked at the clock beside his bed. It read 4:30 am.  
  
"What do you oafs want to so bloody early in the morning?" He snapped his fingers, and the candles in the chandelier above his bed lit up. Crabbe and Goyle were standing next the bed, looking overly tense and wringing their hands nervously. "Where's Kreacher?"  
  
The two exchanged panicked glances. "Well, you said that you wanted us to get him to tell us what he knows about the Order," Crabbe said fretfully. "He wouldn't tell us, so..." Goyle reached down and pulled up something that looked like it used to be a house elf.  
  
Kreacher's robes were more torn than they were the day before, and stained with blood. A piece of his left ear was missing, both his eyes were black and blue and swollen, and a thin trickle of blood escaped his lips. His head lolled on his shoulders.  
  
"You empty-headed buffoons," Draco hissed, throwing off his blankets and vaulting from the bed. "Put him down!" Goyle immediately dropped Kreacher. He landed with a soft thump and let out a low moan.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes with exasperation and bent next to the house elf. "That's not what I meant, you half-brained twit!" He gently picked him up and placed him on the bed. He rounded on Crabbe and Goyle, his usually slate gray eyes almost black with anger.  
  
"You beat him up? You two ogres beat up a house elf one tenth your size?" His eyes were blazing.  
  
"You said to get the information from him."  
  
"Vertaiserum. I didn't help you two through two years of Advanced Potions so you could beat up a house elf!"  
  
"He was just talking gibberish –" "Of course he was. He spent thirteen years in a house, by himself, talking to a picture. What did you expect him to do; sing 'Madame Butterfly'?"  
  
A loud knock rang from the door.  
  
"Damn," Draco whispered. He pushed Crabbe and Goyle into his closet. He ran back to the bed, picked up Kreacher, and tossed him to them. Crabbe caught him and Goyle shut the door.  
  
The bedroom door burst open, and Lucius stood in the doorway, wand out. "Next time I knock," he said calmly, returning his wand to his pocket, "be quicker answering the door."  
  
"Of course...Father." Draco's eyes bore into his father's. They held each other's stare, waiting for the other to drop his gaze. After a few moments, Draco broke the silence. "May I inquire why you are in my room so early in the morning?"  
  
Lucius sneered. "I have as much right as you do here." "I'd like to continue sleeping, so if you could hurry this up a bit, I'd be rather thankful."  
  
"You're lucky I don't curse that look off you face. Your mother and I will be out for the day. You are not to leave the grounds; understand?"  
  
"Understood." "Good." Lucius turned, and then stopped. "If I find out that you left the premises, you'll wish you'd been feed to a herd of wild manticores. Keep that in mind."  
  
He walked away, leaving the door open. Draco rushed to the doorway and looked out to make sure that Lucius was gone. He shut the door, rushed to the closet, and threw it open. Crabbe and Goyle stood motionless, each with a look of pure terror set on their face. He took Kreacher and placed him on his bed.  
  
His breathing was heavy and irregular, and there was a large bilge under his shirt. It looked revoltingly similar to a bone jutting from under the skin.  
  
"I cannot believe the stupidity of you two," Draco spat out. "I can't ask what you were thinking, because obviously intelligent thought is beyond your grasp."  
  
"We were just doing what you told us to," Crabbe protested, stepping out from the closet.  
  
"I distinctly remember not saying, 'Beat Kreacher to a pulp.' Things like that stay with a person."  
  
"What do we do now?" Goyle asked. "Well, we very well can't get him professional help' we'd have to explain what happened. And I don't think that he'll last until morning, even with a Healer's help."  
  
Draco sat down on the floor, running his hands through his silver hair and grabbing fistfuls. He sat silent for a while, and Crabbe and Goyle stood next to him, looking overly uncomfortable.  
  
"Kreacher was the only thing we had against the Order," he said finally. "What good would he possibly be worth to us, if he... were...DEAD?!?" They jumped as he yelled the last word. "You two better hope that the bloody house elf lives, because you will not want to face the Dark Lord if he dies."  
  
Goyle opened his mouth, but Draco cut him off before he started, without looking up. "Just leave me alone for a while. Go sit in the living room or something; I need to think for a bit."  
  
They walked silently from the room, leaving Draco alone on the floor. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  
  
"We are so screwed."  
  
-  
  
Harry woke up with a stomachache from eating too much the night before. It was an oddly happy feeling, but it left when he remembered what he had to do that day.  
  
He groaned and rolled out of bed. After pulling on a fresh set of clothes, he headed downstairs. The Weasley kids sat at the table accompanied by Mundungus and Lupin. The most anyone had in front of them was toast, except Ron; he was eating more than Harry did in a week.  
  
"Don't you ever get tired of shoveling food down your throat?" Harry asked. He sat down next to Ginny, who was looking rather pale as she watched her brother eat across the table.  
  
"Nope," he answered, spraying bits of egg out of his mouth.  
  
"Where do you put it all?"  
  
"Don't know; don't care. The way I see it, I should eat like this while I still can. That way when my metabolism comes to a screeching halt, I won't take on the girth of Madame Maxime."  
  
Harry snorted as a bowl of porridge was set down in front of him. He looked up at Mrs. Weasley; he could already feel his stomach tighten. "You have got to be kidding. I ate all the food I'll need for the week last night." "Just a little bit," Mrs. Weasley urged. "It will do you good to get some hot, fresh food in you."  
  
Harry offered a weak smile and slowly picked up his spoon. She beamed down at him and walked into the kitchen. He waited until the door closed to push the bowl to Ron.  
  
"Thanks," Ron said, swallowing the last bite of eggs. He picked up Harry's spoon and dug into the porridge.  
  
Ginny groaned and stood up. "I can't watch anymore of this; it's torture. I'm going to go get dressed." She turned and walked upstairs.  
  
Fred turned to George. "We had better get going, too. The order of Fat Lip Licorice is supposed to come in today."  
  
"What's Fat Lip Licorice; if I may so bold to ask?" Harry inquired.  
  
"A new candy we've invented," George answered. "If you eat it, your lips will swell to five times their normal size. You won't even be able to speak."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
A smile pulled at the corners of George's mouth. "We've...uh...run some tests."  
  
"Tests!" Ron exclaimed. "You cut some up and put them in my stew! It took forever for the swelling to go down."  
  
Harry burst into laughter and Ron scowled, returning his full attention to his porridge.  
  
"Come on, Fred; let's go. We're supposed to open soon, anyway." The twins waved, then simultaneously Disapparated. Ron flinched at the noise.  
  
"I hate it when they do that," he said, and returned to eating.  
  
Harry looked sideways at Lupin and Mundungus at the other end if the table; they were immersed in their own conversation. Still, Harry leaned in and lowered his voice.  
  
"Ron, Hermione is coming over early this afternoon. We're going to try to find Malfoy Manor and get Kreacher back."  
  
Ron choked on the food he was still eating. "What?" His voice was just above a whisper. "Are you both mad? We can't do that; we'll be sent home in a thimble."  
  
"Don't exaggerate."  
"I'm not!" His whisper was shrill. "Walking into a hippogriff's cave wearing meat soaked pants is safer than walking up to Malfoy's front door."  
  
"Look, just finish eating and we'll talk about this upstairs."  
  
At that moment, Hedwig came swooping into the dinning room and landed next to Ron's bowl. Harry removed the small scrap of parchment from her outstretched leg. She nipped his hand affectionately, hooted a soft goodbye, and flew out of the room. Harry looked at the message for a moment.  
  
"Come on," he said, "we're leaving now."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hermione's found something." Harry crumpled the paper and stuffed it in his pocket, standing as he did so.  
  
"But I'm not done," Ron whined.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and pulled his friend out of his chair. 


	6. Anxiety in the Truth

Chapter 6  
Anxiety in the Truth  
"The wicked are always surprised to find that the good can be clever."  
–Marquis de Vauvenargues  
  
"Hermione?" Ron yelled, knocking loudly on the door. A growl sounded on the other side, and both Harry and Ron's eyes widened.  
  
"Sorry, my mistake." Ron looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. "That's odd; this is the number that the innkeeper gave us."  
  
Harry looked at the paper over Ron's shoulder, and exhaled sharply; exasperated. He took the paper, turned it upside down, put it back in his friend's hand, and walked down the hall.  
  
"Oh right; I see," Ron said, in a sort of surprised sort of tone. He put the paper back in his pocket and followed Harry.  
  
They stopped in front of the correct door. "Hermione, are you in there?" Harry called, knocking lightly. The door opened almost immediately and hands grabbed them by the front of their shirts and pulled them inside the room.  
  
Hermione shut the door behind them and began talking. "Thank goodness you two showed up; I was getting worried. I've been looking through some books I had lying around and I have some ideas. I'm not completely positive about them, mind you, but I am willing to give them a try."  
  
Her room was disheveled, rather uncharacteristic for Hermione. A trunk lay open, unpacked, with the clothes hastily folded and tossed inside. Parchments and books were scattered all around the room.  
  
Without letting them answer, she continued. "Most of the spells and charms I've found are for locating a lost person or item, and Kreacher isn't really lost, so they aren't all that useful. But know that there are three of us working, hopefully we can find exactly what we need. Ron, the parchments by the window are for you; Harry, yours are on the desk. Let's get a move on.  
  
The next few hours were spent on research. Food came at noon for lunch, but after that it was right back to work.  
  
"I've found something!" Ron exclaimed after about forty-five more minutes of grueling torture.  
  
"What?" Harry asked, thankful for the break.  
  
"It seems fairly simple. All we need is something of Malfoy's." "Oh that," Hermione said. She turned back to her books. "I found it ages ago. But we don't have anything of his, so it's more or less useless."  
  
"No it isn't," Ron replied. "Do you remember last year; the 'incident' with Malfoy and Goyle?" he asked Harry.  
  
"Oh, you mean when the two of you ambushed them from behind, fractured Malfoy's jaw, gave Goyle a concussion, and almost got yourselves expelled when you only had two weeks of school left?" Hermione asked innocently. "Is that the 'incident' you mean?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Well, then I'm guessing he does."  
  
"Hold on a minute."  
  
Ron Disapparated without much warning, and Harry and Hermione were left staring at nothing but air for a few minutes. He reappeared, holding a scrap of cloth.  
  
"During our...meeting... with Malfoy, I tore his robes while I was tearing him off of you. When Snape showed up, I just put it in my pocket and forgot about it. I found it while I was unpacking."  
  
"How come you never told us?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I don't know." He shrugged. "It never came up."  
  
She snatched the fabric from his hand. "It would have made things a lot simpler if you had. Honestly, that is probably the only time your male- influenced short temper will ever come in handy." She took his parchment and started to ready the spell.  
  
-  
  
Draco emerged from his room to get something to eat for lunch. He took his food into the den to where Crabbe and Goyle were waiting for him.  
  
"Well, I managed to heal the minor cuts and bruises, and clot the blood on the more serious ones." He sat down in a high-backed, rigid chair. "But, I haven't the proper training to set bones yet. And I'm more than positive that there is severe internal bleeding." He bit into the sandwich he made. "I doubt he will make it past midnight."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle's faces went ghostly pale. Crabbe swallowed nervously. "Well, can't Lucius do some–"  
  
"Are you serious? We can't tell Lucius; he'd skin us alive. No, this is our problem."  
  
"What can we do, then?"  
  
"Brace ourselves."  
  
-  
  
"I believe that I've got it." Hermione said leaning over a large map of England. She put down her jar of powdered manticore spines, and pointed to a red area. "That is where it should be."  
  
"Well then, Harry said, standing, "let's go."  
  
-  
  
Draco was putting his dish in the sink when he heard the low of the doorbell. Immediately he became suspicious. Forgetting that he was still wearing only his pajama bottom, Draco raced to the front door. He threw it open and blinked against the harsh light of the blazing sun. "Potter," he growled.  
  
"Where is he, Malfoy?" Harry asked, spitting out the words."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Stop being a bloody prick, Malfoy," Hermione said, her eyes iced in anger. "Give us back Kreacher."  
  
"Mind you manners, mudblood."  
  
Ron let out a growl and threw himself at Draco. Harry caught his arms and held him back, just as Draco pointed his wand between Ron's eyes; he'd pulled it from his pocket with amazing speed.  
  
"I haven't the energy, Weasley, but I will if I have to. I just am NOT in the mood."  
  
"Fine," Ron snarled, still held back by Harry. "Give us Kreacher back and we'll leave, and I won't tear you limb from limb."  
  
Draco lowered his wand and let out a hollow laugh. "You're threatening me; that's rich."  
  
"Listen, Malfoy, just give him back," Harry snapped. "Then we'll leave." "As much as I would love to help you, I can't. My father took Kreacher with him when he left this morning." He was unable to hide the smirk that crept to his lips. "I am very sorry, though," he added with mock sympathy. "Now, it would do you well to get the bloody hell off of my property, before you get hurt. Unfortunately, you haven't been here long enough for the curses to affect, but later on I'll track you down. Promise." He grinned.  
  
Ron struggled against his holds. "I can't wait. I'll finally get the chance to wipe the damned smirk off your face."  
  
"I'll be sure to stay on my toes, then."  
  
Draco slammed the door in Ron's scowling face. "Damn it. How the hell did they manage to find us? Now they'll be coming here every other day." He growled and punched the door.  
  
-  
  
"What do we do now?" Ron asked, biting into his cauldron cake. They were back in Hermione's room, eating a small snack before they went back to the house.  
  
"Well," Hermione replied, "we were lucky enough that Lucius wasn't there. I don't think he would have been as ... compassionate... as Draco was."  
  
Harry snorted.  
  
"Okay, so it wasn't compassion, per se," she corrected. "Actually, it was kind of odd. He had the perfect chance at us. No one else was around, and we weren't really that prepared. He seemed..."  
  
"Distracted?" Harry supplied.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Yes, I noticed that, too." Ron swallowed his last bite of cake. "Wonder what it was all about."  
  
"I don't know," Harry said. "Do you think that he was lying to us about Kreacher?"  
  
"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed.  
  
"Don't be thick, Harry," Ron said. "Why would Malfoy tell us the truth? It's not like he's our fourth musketeer."  
  
"I know that," Harry replied. "But it is still out of his character." "Well," Hermione broke in, "we don't have time to dwell on it. I'm sure he told Lucius, so we might have to wait, just in case."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"In case he sets any more charms on the property. We'll have to research possible spells, so we can learn what to expect and how to defeat it."  
  
""Well," Ron said, "as fun as that sounds, it's almost time to go home for diner." He stood up. "Are you coming with us Hermione?"  
  
"No," she answered. She settled into the armchair in the corner of the room, book in hand. "I'd rather get a head start on reading."  
  
"We're out of school, and you're still doing homework diligently." Harry grinned.  
  
"Oddly comforting, that is," Ron added.  
  
"Are you going to come visit us tomorrow?"  
  
"Mmm. I'll be there for breakfast," Hermione replied. "That is, if it's all right with your mum, Ron."  
  
He snorted. "Of course. Mum loves any reason to entertain people; she lives for it."  
  
"Alright then. We'll have breakfast at you house than come back here for some research time."  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Harry said, standing next to Ron. "Is eightish all right with you?"  
  
"Mmm hmm." She was already immersed in her book. "Fine with me."  
  
The two boys Disapparated, leaving Hermione to her reading.  
  
-  
  
Draco sat in a plain wooden chair pulled up close to the side of his bed. He rested hi chin purposefully on his hands, watching the labored breathing of Kreacher, who was drifting in and out of consciousness. He'd been unable to fix the broken bones and internal bleeding, and was now keeping vigil in surrender.  
  
Suddenly, Kreacher began to stir, which Draco found to be normal. But without warning, the house elf began to convulse violently. Draco straitened abruptly, unsure about what exactly to do to help. As suddenly as he started, Kreacher stopped. He gave a final great shudder and was still.  
  
Draco's stomach lurched in horror as realization set in. he stood slowly, staring at Kreacher's face; his mind reeling with anger and uncertainty. Filled with rage, he lifted his chair and hurled it against the wall, roaring with all his pent up emotions.  
  
Eyes flashing, and still feeling the hatred eating at his soul, he whipped all the supplies off his desk and flipped it over. He was completely unaware of the cries coming from his mouth, and the tears silently sliding down his face.  
  
His long overdue rant continued for a few more minutes. Breathing raggedly, he stepped over the debris that cluttered his floor and walked out the door. He found Crabbe and Goyle in the hallway, hovering around his door. The looks on their faces stated the obviously overheard the contained commotion.  
  
"Kreacher's dead," Draco stated in a low monotone. "Take his body into the woods and burn it. Respectfully. And if I hear that there's been a house elf corpse found in the forest, it will be rather...unpleasant for you two, so do a good and thorough job."  
  
He waited until Crabbe and Goyle took the body and left the house until he went back into his room. His mind was numb as he sat on his bed, staring blankly at the wall. A dread gnawed at his stomach. He lay down on his side and curled pulled his knees into his chest, quivering.  
  
He began to dwell inside his mind, thinking about how that night could very well be the last he spent alive. The Dark Lord had depended on Kreacher for information, and now Draco had let him down, and lost their only advantage against the Order.  
  
He was still in bed when his parents came home. They walked past his bedroom, down the hall, and into their bedroom without acknowledging his presence. 


	7. Wild Emotions

**Chapter 7**

_Wild Emotions_

"It is easy to fly into a passion--anybody can do that--but to be angry with the right person and at the right time and with the right object and in the right way--that is not easy, and it is not everyone who can do it." –Aristotle

Hermione's spoon clanged against the bottom of her bowl. "Thanks so much, Mrs. Weasley. It was excellent."

"It's no trouble, dear," she said, picking up the now empty bowl. "You come whenever you like; it's a pleasure having you over."

Hermione smiled after Mrs. Weasley, who walked back into the kitchen. She turned back to the table, where Harry and Ron sat. Harry was already done eating, but Ron was only two thirds of the way done his fourth stack of pancakes. "Honestly Ron; you would think you've never eaten before in your life."

Without looking up from his plate, Ron replied: "I can't think on an empty stomach."

"I'm surprised you ever think at all," she muttered, leaning back in her chair and rolling her eyes.

Harry grinned. "Did you find anything last night?" he asked Hermione.

"No; nothing I didn't already know. I was still wondering why Malfoy acted the way he did. He was always threatening us when we were at Hogwarts. And now, we show up on his doorstep and he does nothing."

"Maybe he had something better to do."

"Maybe..."

"Well, I'm done," Ron announced, standing as he drained his cup of juice. "Let's go."

"Oh, are you three leaving already?" Mr. Weasley appeared from the stairwell. He grabbed a pear from the bowl of fruit on the table. "I thought you would stay a little while longer."

"Harry and Ron are helping me study. I start my training for becoming a Healer next week," Hermione said without missing a beat.

"Oh, well, have fun you guys." He smiled and walked into the kitchen.

"When did you learn to lie so blatantly?" Ron asked, somewhat surprised.

"How long have I known you two? I've lied to plenty of adults. I've even lied to you." She smiled. "Besides, it's not a complete lie. We are going to be studying...sort of."

"When did you lie to me?"

"Let's go," Harry said. "We can start early; maybe we won't be at it for very long."

"Seriously; when did you lie to me?"

-

Unfortunately, Harry was wrong. They spent the entire morning looking all sorts of jinxes, spells and charms, then working on how to deflect them affectively. By the time they took a break to get some lunch, Harry was already sick of books. So was Ron, according to the look on his face whenever Hermione would force him to open another one, to look up a counter curse or whatnot.

Hermione, on the other hand, was in her research mode. "You two go on and have some lunch; I'm going to stay here and keep looking."

"Hermione," Harry said, "you _are_ eating. You had almost nothing for breakfast."

"I'll get some thing brought up."

"The books will still be here when we get back." He took the book from her hand and tried to pull her off of the bed.

She glared at him and stood, rather reluctantly.

Ron opened the door, and Harry dragged her out of the room.

-

"See how nice it is to get into the real world for awhile?" Harry asked Hermione. The three of them were sitting in a quaint little muggle diner, on the other side of town. Harry and Hermione were eating the special of the day. And as usual, Ron ordered enough food to feed an entire House.

"I suppose so. The real world is vastly overrated, but I must admit that this is quite nice," she replied, taking a sip of her iced tea.

"Mmm; and the food is excellent," Ron added. He had already plowed through half of his meal. "Not to mention peaceful."

"Yes, that is one thing that I love about muggle places," Harry replied; "no one stares. You'd think that after eighteen years, they would get tired of looking at me. But no. I can't imagine that I am _that _good looking."

"Of course you are," Hermione said. Harry grinned at her as a reply.

"So, what will we do about Kreacher?" Ron asked loudly.

"Shh!" Hermione hissed. "We could be overheard."

Ron swallowed his piece of bacon. "Come on. Who here could possibly know about him? This is a muggle restaurant."

Harry shook his head. "If Moody could here you right now. What makes you think everyone in here is a muggle; we're not."

Ron's eye's widened, and he offered them a sheepish grin. "Oh yeah."

"See? This is why I wanted to stay at the room and eat in like last time. We can at least talk openly there." Hermione sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

"Well, next time then," Ron retorted.

She scowled. "You are so stubborn."

"Of course he is," Harry said. "What fun would it be if he weren't obstinate, or stupid?"

"Hey! I resent that."

"Yes, well... deal with it. Now hurry up and finish eating so we can go back and keep looking." Harry put his napkin on his plate and sighed. He looked over at Hermione, who was watching Ron eat, chin resting on her hand and confused interest playing on her delicate face. She felt his eyes and turned to him, smiling.

"How does he do that?"

"Test study results are inconclusive." He winked at her, widening her smile so that it reached her eyes. His heart warmed at the sight; she had looked so downcast the past couple of days.

"Okay, I'm done," Ron announced, draining his glass of orange juice.

"Do you chew your food before you swallow it, or do you just inhale it?" Harry asked.

"Both."

"Come on," Hermione said, rising and tossing some muggle money on the table. "Let's go back to my room and keep looking. We're doing quite well."

"Then let's be off."

-

Draco woke up late that morning. The sun was up and the manor was empty. He rose from his bed and looked at his room. It was in shambles from the night before's rant. Shrugging, he stepped over the debris and shut the door. After taking a long, scalding shower, he pulled on a clean set of clothes and went into the kitchen. He ate a couple pieces of dry toast, listening to the silence all around him.

After tossing his plate in the sink, he went back to his room to clean up his mess. With a wave of his wand, the desk righted itself and the parchment and supplies flew on top of it, and the chair de-shattered itself and settled itself at the desk.

He walked through the empty hallway aimlessly, thinking about the night before. _How am I going to fix this_? He thought to himself. _I'm sure that the Dark Lord already knows. I guess that now it's just a matter of time before he acts. _Draco's stomach knotted and he grimaced.

"Well. I might as well see if Crabbe and Goyle managed to dispose of Kreacher correctly." His heart beat rapidly as his voice pierced the cold silence. Ignoring the thumping beneath his chest, he Disapparated.

He reappeared a moment later in Goyle's living room. He was on the couch, asleep. Crabbe was in an armchair, head propped on his arm, snoring. Draco picked up a vase of flowers off the pedestal next to him, and threw it at the wall above the sofa Goyle was sleeping on. Both Crabbe and Goyle woke with a start.

Draco smirked. "Morning sunshines." He took out his wand and repaired the vase. It flew back into his hand, and he placed it on its pedestal.

Crabbe yawned widely. "What are you doing here, Draco?"

"To check up on you two buffoons. Did you burn Kreacher's body yet?

Goyle cast a nervous glance at Crabbe. "Of course we did. Last night."

"And then threw the ashes into the deeper part of the woods," Crabbe added.

Draco looked at them closely, and they stared blankly back. Too angry and tired to argue the matter with the two of them, he was forced to take their word for it. Frustrated, he sat down in an armchair opposite of Crabbe and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. Despite the fact that they were his friends, Crabbe and Goyle honestly had to be the most dimwitted, unintelligent wizards on the face of the earth, and some how Draco had gotten stuck with them. He buried his face into his hands – not in anger or sadness this time – deeply immersed in thought. It may not have been his fault that Kreacher was dead, but none the less, he had to fix it. After a few minuets, he lifted his head and tousled his moon-pale hair distractedly.

"What we have to do," Draco began slowly, "is lay low for awhile. No going out to pubs for drinks, or wandering around aimlessly in broad daylight. Stay at home the most you can. I'm assuming that the Dark lord hasn't caught wind of Kreacher's death yet, but I'm sure that he will in the next day or two, at most. So, in the mean time, you'd better work up the courage to face him, and think up a damn good excuse for your action."

He looked up at them and saw their wide eyed expressions. "That's the best I can do for you two. I'll be surprised if I'm not dragged in along with you. I can't just right this myself. I'm not a bloody miracle worker. I'm sorry," and for perhaps the first time in his life, he meant it.

Crabbe and Goyle sat still and numb in the after shock of Draco's small, sad speech. After a few minuets of shocked silence, Draco began to get irritated. "I'd appreciate some sort of response from either of you... blink if you understand what I'm saying."

"Thanks, Draco," Goyle said softly. His gaze shifted from Draco's face to above his shoulder, and his eyes sank into an inane gaze. Crabbe closed his eyes and sat back in his chair.

The three sat in silence. All different kinds of stories and excuses ran through Draco's head. _I can say that it was an accident_, Draco thought. _But he will be able to see through that. Whatever I say, I should be in the clear as long as the Dark Lord doesn't say anything to my father. If he does, I'm screwed._

Suddenly Draco sat up, ramrod straight. "My father," he whispered. He turned to the clock behind him. It read one o'clock. He had left at noon. "Damn!" He shot up from his chair.

"What is it?" Crabbe asked.

"I have no idea whether or not my father is home. And I'm supposed to be under house arrest or whatever. I've got to go. I'll talk to you two later." He blinked out, leaving Crabbe and Goyle staring at air.

Draco Reapparated in his room as smoothly as possible, facing the door. He opened it quietly, and after checking to make sure the hall way was clear, let out a small sigh of relief. He turned around, and saw a fist coming straight at his face. It connected with his jaw, sending him flying into the hallway. He landed hard on the floor.

Lucius stepped out of Draco's room and stood over him, seething anger and eyes seemingly glowing with fury. "I am fed up with your 'do what I want, mightier than thou' attitude." His voice strong and steady, and it had the same force as a roar.

"Where do you think I get it from?" Draco spat back with pain in his voice. He pushed himself up with one arm and rubbed his sore jaw, glaring at this father.

Snarling, Lucius grabbed his son by the front of his shirt and pulled him roughly up. "Where the hell," he slammed Draco hard against the wall, "do you get off saying a thing like that?"

Bright spots danced in front of Draco's eyes as a throbbing pain washed through his skull. "Where do you get off thinking you are so much better than me? You are lower than the scum I scrape off the bottom of my shoe."

With a sneer, Lucius pressed his forearm into Draco's throat, cutting off some of the air in his windpipe, causing him to choke and wheeze. "I do not expect you to put me on a pedestal, but you will treat me with the respect I deserve as you father."

Lucius was much stronger than he let on. On Draco struggled to loosen the hold on his throat, he managed to get a gulp of air. On the exhale, he spat in his father's face. "I have more respect for Dumbledore and Potter than I do for you," he gasped.

Lucius threw him onto the floor, rage seeming to seep out of his pores. Draco coughed harshly, attempting to draw a steady breath, glaring at his father with pure and utter contempt.

"I will teach you to hold me in some respect, no matter what it takes." He pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at Draco. "Cru-"

"Lucius!"

He stopped mid sentence and turned around, wand still pointing at Draco. Narcissa was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. "My dear Lucius," she said softly, her voice dripping with honey and wickedness. "What will that achieve?" She spoke with sickening innocence, which was so undoubtedly fake. "I would hate to explain to the Dark Lord why one of his most faithful servants cursed another into some sort of oblivion. It would be ever so awkward. She walked over to Lucius and gazed at him with long lashes and seemingly hypnotizing dark gray – almost black – eyes. Even as Lucius looked at her, he seemed to melt. She put her hand on his wand. "Now, let's stop this foolish little brawl, shall we?" Still, staring intently at his wife, he slowly lowered his arm.

Draco quickly scrambled to his feet and glared at his father. "Afraid of the rumors that would ensue my insanity, father?" he spat angrily. "'Lucius Malfoy's only son cursed to the same fate as the Longbottom's'; how would you ever get over the heartache?"

Draco's voice snapped Lucius out of his trance. He whirled around, raising his wand. Light flashed and Draco snapped his head to the side as if receiving a blow. A deep gash appeared on his face, running from the corner of one eye down almost to the corner of his mouth.

Narcissa heaved a sigh filled with mock exasperation. "What am I going to do with you?" She laughed and threw her hands up. Her laugh was like the tinkling of brass bells and sent a chill up Draco's spine.

"Perhaps now you will a scar, just like your much revered Harry Potter," Lucius scoffed.

Draco could feel warm blood trickling down his cheek. "I can only hope. Then maybe Voldemort will kill the two of you and save me the trouble."

His mother reeled around, eyes ablaze. "Perhaps you were right," she said to Lucius. Before Draco could blink, she whipped out her wand. "Crucio," she said, eyes glinting malevolently, a smile already playing on her lips.

Complete and unreserved pain instantly consumed Draco's entire body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head in agony and he clutched ay the wall, desperately trying to support himself.

"How dare you speak the Dark Lord's name aloud!" she barked, but with sick delight dancing in her eyes. "You should consider yourself lucky to even be allowed to serve under him!"

A fresh wave of agony washed through Draco. He gasped in pain and braced himself against the wall to stay upright. Sweat poured from his forehead, burning his eyes and the gash on his cheek. His knees buckled and he dug his fingers into the wall in vain, panting harshly.

Narcissa laughed viciously and a wicked look lit up her face. "Does it hurt much, my little one? Why do you not cry out; do you think you can control it?" When he didn't respond, all joviality – evil or otherwise – left her eyes. "Show your parents some respect. Come, get on your knees and beg for our forgiveness and for relief."

Another wave of torture wiped through Draco; so much pain that it made him nauseous. Still pressed against the wall, he desperately looked to his father for help. Lucius stood to the side, intently staring at his wife with sick admiration and a faint smile on his lips.

Draco gritted his teeth against the thralls of pain wreaking havoc on his body. His knees buckled and gave out. He sank to the floor in defeat and caught himself with his arms to keep from crashing face first on the floor. All at once the pain subsided. On all fours on the floor, weakly holding himself up with exhausted muscles, Draco started to dry heave as his body still stayed in shock from the torture. He slumped against the wall, breathing raggedly, on the edge of consciousness.

Narcissa smoothly put her wand away and completely changed her manner. "Come Lucius, I fancy a walk. And I do believe that dear Draco needs a bit of rest." She linked arms with her husband and walked past Draco down the hall. "Goodbye, my little one," she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the den.

Draco sagged against the wall. _Suddenly, facing Voldemort doesn't seem so bad_, thought, and everything went black.

-

"If I never see another book in my entire life, it will be all too soon."

Once again, Ron, Harry and Hermione were back at the Leaky Cauldron, lunch long since over, looking through yet another stack of books. Ron had been complaining on and off the entire afternoon. It was getting late, and his complaints irritatingly more frequent.

"Ron, if you continue to gripe, I will put a Silencing Charm on you," Hermione said without looking up from her own book.

"I can't help it."

"I bet you can," she grumbled loudly. Harry smiled into his parchment.

""I can't even read the words anymore. They just blur together." He shut the book and closed his eyes. "My head is throbbing," he whined.

"I won't hesitate, Ron; I won't."

Harry rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Ron and Hermione's bickering. Although; it didn't keep the quarreling from being thoroughly annoying. He looked over at Ron, who was sitting on the window bench, resting his head on the wall, glaring at Hermione. Hermione, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to the fact that Ron was shooting deadly glares in her direction. Hunched over in her chair, Harry subconsciously noted how delicately her coffee brown hair dropped over her shoulders, and how bright her eyes were as the skimmed over the musty pages. For the second time that day, Hermione felt Harry's eyes on her and looked up at him. She smiled, biting her lip, then winked at him and returned to her reading. The faintest blush colored her cheeks.

A loud groan from Ron broke Harry's gaze. He'd opened the book again but wasn't reading it. "There has got to be an easier way to go about this," he moaned.

"Yes; you could have not been such a git toward Kreacher," Hermione said to no one in particular, but not bothering to lower her voice.

"Do _not _start in with that again. Spew was an awful idea."

"S.P.E.W. is a great idea!" She stood up and strode to Ron angrily. "And if you hadn't been so terrible to him, he wouldn't have gone to the Malfoy's!"

"He insulted us all Hermione; especially you!"

"He didn't know what he was saying."

"That's a load of shite and you know it. You are so blind sometimes."

"Ron, that is ridiculous. He was just lonely; right Harry?"

"Harry thinks that the nutter should have his head nailed to the wall!"

"Hey," Harry cut in. "Let's not tell Harry what he thinks, shall we?"

They ignored Harry, staring at each other with rage. "Why do you have to be right all the time!" Hermione screamed, her eyes filling with tears of anger. "I am _so_ fed up with you!"

"And I am sick and tired of you being an insufferable know it all!" Ron yelled back. He threw the book in his hand on the floor. "You think you are so clever, but you are only a stupid, dirty-blooded girl!"

An awful silence filled the room, and even Ron looked surprised at the words that had come out of his mouth. Harry looked, wide eyed, from Ron to Hermione, who was trembling with rage; Harry could see it smoldering in her eyes. The book she held slipped from her hand and landed on the floor with a soft thump.

"Hermione..." Ron began softly.

"Is that what you really think of me Ron?" Her voice was deadly quiet, and it shook as badly as her body.

"No, no, no; of course not..." He moved toward her, seeking, hopefully, forgiveness and understanding of his foolish words.

He never had a chance to say anything. The moment he took a step forward, Hermione pulled back her hand and slapped Ron hard across his face. He staggered backwards, eyes wide with amazement, and his hand automatically came up to his cheek. It was red and already beginning to show the first slight signs of bruising. Harry quickly got to his feet in order to evade another strike, at either Ron or Hermione.

Stinging jabs of pain bit into her hand, but she ignored them. In an eerily steady voice she said: "Get out. I never want to see you again."

"No, Hermione. I'm sorry. Please." The color drained from his face with the exception of the hand mark from Hermione.

"Get out!" she shrieked. Ron winced. Hart stared at Hermione; at her smoldering anger and tear brimmed eyes, his heart beating wildly against his ribs.

Ron looked ready to either burst into tears or throw up, or perhaps both. He remained silent, and looked at Harry helplessly. Harry didn't know what to do or say; he simply stood there.

A somber silence chewed on the air as they all stood motionless. Ron slowly took his hand from his face and cast a final look at Hermione, who glared icily back. He walked to the door, picking his jacket up off the armchair, and opened it slowly. He stood in the doorway for moment, as if waiting for Hermione to call him back. When no response came, he walked out of the room and shut the door with a soft creak.

The moment the door closed behind Ron, Hermione broke and burst into tears. She covered her face and cried; her shoulders and chest shuddering as she sobbed. Harry snapped out of his trance and walked over to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He roughly jerked her body away and turned to him; eyes red and puffy, tears pouring down her cheeks, slipping off her chin.

"D-did you hear h-him?" she cried, her voice jumping. "How c-could he say something l-like that? He just as w-well as called me a m-mudblood! How dare he! I hate him! I wish he were DEAD!" Her voice broke, and she covered her face and wept.

Harry took both her arms and gently pried them from her face. When she struggled to get loose, he gripped tighter. "Hermione." She struggled to free herself again; he kept his hold on her wrists, pulling her in closer to him. When she continued to squirm, he said: "Hermione, stop it and listen to me!" She stopped, glaring up at Harry with puffy eyes, tears still leaking from them.

"What?" she said, sniffling.

"You don't hate Ron. And you don't wish he were dead. You-"

"Yes I do!" she screamed. "Harry James Potter, don't you dare tell me what I'm thinking!" Tears streamed down her cheeks again, and she wrenched her arms from her grip and tried to push Harry away from her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into him, trapping her delicate arms between them both. She choked on a sob and looked up at Harry, hiccupping. She looked so sad and unhappy that he wanted to cry himself.

"Listen to me. Ron didn't mean what he said. Trust me; I know Ron better than anyone. He doesn't say those things. He's just stressed out, that's all." He gently rubbed her back with one hand and caressed her soft hair with the other. "You just need some time to cool down; the both of you. Then you can sit down and talk this out, alright?" Harry rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the faint flowery aroma of her hair.

"No," she said forcefully, and then her voice weakened with exhaustion. "I'm not talking to Ron. I _never_ want to see him again." She buried her face in his chest. "I don't want to hate him, Harry. But I can't forgive him not after what he said."

Harry let her go and draped his arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the bed. He sat down and she sat next to him, curling legs underneath her and resting her head on his shoulder. She'd stopped crying, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.

"I know you don't want to hate Ron, and you don't hate him. You're just very upset. Deep down, you know he didn't mean it. We all just need to calm down." He wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

They sat on the bed, simply taking comfort in each other's presence. When Hermione finally stopped shaking, Harry gently let go of her and look out the window. The sky had turned from dark pink to a deep blue, sparkling diamonds dotting the sky here and there. He took out his pocket watch, and was surprised when he saw it read almost nine o'clock.

"I've got to get home and talk to Ron. See how he's doing. I didn't realize how late it was." He moved to get up, but Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"No, don't leave," she said, pleading with her eyes. "Will you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?"

Harry looked at her and found himself unable to say no to her large, brown, desperate eyes. He struggled for a moment longer, but to no avail.

"Okay, fine." Hermione smiled at him. "But only till you fall asleep. Then I'm going back home." She sobered her face and nodded, but with a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "I'm going to send a letter to the Weasley's when Hedwig shows up; telling them not to worry and not to wait up, okay?"

"Of course."

"Just in case I do fall asleep – which I probably won't- I'm going to leave a letter for her to pick up, so no one will worry."

"Okay, then I'm going to change while you do that."

"Into what?"

"Well, as I'm going to be sleeping, I thought pajamas were a good choice."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Hermione stood up and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Harry stood and looked around the room for a quill and a piece of parchment. He sat down in the chair at the desk and started pulling open the drawers.

He found a piece in the bottom drawer, and as he pulled it out, the corner of a photograph stacked beneath a pile of papers caught his eye. He tenderly picked it up.

It was from the winter of their final year, taken by Colin Creevy; Harry's shadow for the past six years at Hogwarts.

It was of Hermione and himself (Ron was in detention for falling asleep during Transfiguration) under the tree they spent so many warm afternoons under. Snow swirled gently around them, and Harry could see a few flakes sticking in her hair and eyelashes. Silently they laughed, throwing piles of snow at each other.

Harry gazed at the picture; the pink in Hermione's cheeks from the cold; the twinkle in her eye accented by the reflection of snow. Again, he felt the warm, fluttery glow in his chest.

The bathroom knob turned, and Harry quickly dropped the picture in the drawer and closed it with his foot, simultaneously picking up the quill and dipping it in the ink.

When Hermione came out of the bathroom, Harry was writing his letter, hoping she wouldn't realize he went looking through her stuff. He addressed the envelope and put it on the window sill.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed in a set of blue striped pajamas. Harry walked to the bed and sat down next to her.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

"I will be."

He lied down on the bed, and Hermione curled up next to her, resting her head in the nook between his shoulder and neck.

Feeling her heartbeat lightly on her chest, listening to the soothing sound of her breathing, absent mindedly playing with her hair, Harry found himself more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

His eyelids grew heavy, and they fluttered shut. Harry drifted off to sleep just before Hedwig flew into the room and picked up the letter.


End file.
